


One Of Them

by jehanjetaime



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Musician Grantaire, Past Lives, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehanjetaime/pseuds/jehanjetaime
Summary: A short reincarnation fic for Barricade Day, feat. famous musician Grantaire.





	One Of Them

“It’s not about suicide. Some of my songs are - everyone knows about my past and stuff - but this one is not. No one who has ever suffered through suicidal ideation truly glorifies it, and my song IS about glory, the search for it in hard times.”

The lights were hot, concentrated on both the indie-folk sensation R and the late night talk show host interviewing him. He was happy to be there, honestly, but surprised. R - stage name for Hercule Grantaire, 29 year old guitar and ukulele player - had never thought he would even live to that age, if he was honest, much less be plucked from his job at an obscure little book store and pulled into fame after a few of his songs went viral. Now he was here, on the insanely popular SunDown with Amelie Martel, handling the same questions everyone wanted to ask about his newest single.

“A lot of people are complaining that it really does sound as if you are not only glorifying suicide, but encouraging it in this song,” Amelie said, gesturing towards the side. Grantaire could see them on a screen off to the side, and watched as the video for his new song popped up on that screen. “Like, this part, right here.”

Not even famous performers liked to hear their voices over video, but Grantaire had accepted this fact of life now that people were constantly bringing him on TV shows and podcasts. He watched himself on screen, paused at the part he knew it would be paused at. The image jumped into action.

_”And I said, I said,_  
_‘Darling, I know you wanna go,_  
_I know you wanna go with your head held high.’_

_You told me ‘I don’t want to go,_  
_But I have to, lord, I have to,_  
_It’s always been my duty to die.’_

_You never looked so beautiful,_  
_Framed in red and gold_  
_A statue made of hope and light_

_But things like that don't support reality right._

_I let you take your final steps,_  
_And did not close my eyes_  
_But ran to you and took your hand._  
_It will be my pleasure to die.”_

The video paused. Grantaire looked out into the audience, but it was hard to make out faces. Amelie smiled at him. 

“I see why people take what they do from it. But you’ll see, the whole album is themed with revolution, a group doomed to die for a cause they believe in. This is...just the end.” He heard the gunshots ring out, the cries of his friends, the sounds of soldiers on the cobblestones, all from 185 years ago. “I don’t know if anyone is familiar with the June Rebellion of 1832, but I’m really interested in history, and it was a fascinating thing - a group of schoolboys, college kids by our standards, rose up against the French government, and all of them were killed. It was a futile thing, really, but they hoped for the best. They weren’t scared, they just...stood up for what was right to them, and I think it’s inspirational. That really impacted the way this album came to be.”

And he hoped they were proud of him. Would Jehan like his lyrics? Would Courfeyrac approve of the way he was going to release it all for download for free? Would Combeferre appreciate the muted colours of the album cover?

Would Enjolras like that he was spreading word of what they had done?

He had to control the burning in his throat; they were on national TV, after all. No one he had ever met remembered the things he did.

It wasn’t normal to remember past lives, after all.

So Grantaire smiled and pushed his mop of black curls from his face. “It’s not about suicide because a person wants to die - it’s about martyrdom for a just cause that not enough believed in.”

“The song seems rather personal for something that happened so long ago!” the host said, taking a sip of coffee.

Grantaire had to hide a grimace. “The whole album is pretty personal. Nothing’s quite as deeply attached to a person as standing up for something they believe in.”

“It’s a beautiful song,” Amelie said. Then she turned to the audience. “And when we come back from break, you’ll hear it live.”

They all applauded and the hostess was taken over by people adjusting her hair and makeup. Grantaire abandoned his chair for the stoll and his guitar. Someone from the sound booth came over to make sure all of the audio was set up properly, and Grantaire took his seat on the stool. He waved to the audience, and he knew that he would be signing autographs for ages tonight. But meeting his fans was his favourite part of this, and the only reason he even let all of this happen.

The lights came back up, the ‘ON AIR’ sign lit up, and the director pointed to him. Grantaire strummed the first few bars of music, head ducked as always, before launching into the song itself.

_’Love is not a victory march’_  
_Cohen wrote it so,_  
_But I think it was Wainwright did it true._

_It was like they knew you,_  
_Had shared hopes and dreams and drink and talk,_  
_But you didn’t live to hear it, did you?_

_You knew where to go,_  
_You knew when to leave,_  
_And leaving was all I felt worth._

_I still begged for your grace,_  
_I begged for your look,_  
_Never knew a thing of rebirth._

_And I said, I said,_  
_‘Darling, I know you wanna go,_  
_I know you wanna go with your head held high.’_

_You told me ‘I don’t want to go,_  
_But I have to, lord, I have to_  
_It’s always been my duty to die.’_

_You never looked so beautiful,_  
_Framed in red and gold_  
_A statue made of hope and light_

_But things like that don't support reality right._

_I let you take your final steps,_  
_And did not close my eyes_  
_But ran to you and took your hand._  
_It will be my pleasure to die._

_There was no pain_  
_There was no fear,_  
_There was no heavenly sign._

_But we were there,_  
_And on the brink of death,_  
_I felt your hand in mine.”_

He strummed the last chords of the song and repeated the last stanza to the start of a sea of applause. Grantaire raised his hand as the lights went down on hims and went back up on Amelie and her next guest. He was glad to slip out in the darkness. Grantaire went to his dressing room and chatted with some of the staff and crew before meeting with a couple people from the audience who had backstage passes.

As always, he looked through the crowd for any of his friends. 

As always, it was a sea of strangers. But Grantaire talked with each one of them and signed things, took selfies and sent out Snapchats with them. He tried to get his face out to the public as much as possible not for fame, not for money, but for one thing.

If anyone else had been reincarnated, he wanted them to know he was out there.

The rest of the night was a blur of signing autographs both in and outside the building. He did enjoy chatting with his fans, with the security, with anyone, but with every single person that was not Joly, not Bossuet, not Feuilly, Grantaire’s heart sunk a little. Perhaps that was it, though. His first album had been very personal, but this one? This one was about his friends, their mission, their deaths.

 _The Man Who Bled Truth_ for sweet Jehan. _They Were Laughter_ for Joly and Bossuet. Courfeyrac had _Keep On_ , Combeferre had _A Blue Sweater and Golden Ideas_. Feuilly took a turn in a song named only _People_ and Pontmercy even took the stage with _Doe Eyes_. He had fashioned an instrumental for Éponine named _Could Have Been Soft_. Grantaire never knew if he would be able to perform _Wings,_ because two hundred years had passed and he still was not ready for life without Gavroche. There were other, more general songs along the same theme on the album as well.

And then there was _One of Them_ the hardest song of them all to sing, the one he had just performed, the one he wanted to make sure everyone heard.

If Enjolras was out there, Grantaire could not let this song pass him by.

After a long night of greeting fans, Grantaire took off on his own for his a 24-hour diner. He ordered food and sat in the back corner, hood up, not wanting to talk to anybody. It was nearly 3 in the morning by the time he got his food, and he was surprised to hear someone else come in the diner. Grantaire did not look up.

Not even when he heard the theme song of SunDown with Amelie start. Already time for the repeat? Grantaire didn’t necessarily want to watch the interview with himself, so he pulled out his headphones.

As he did, the person who came in asked for a menu, then paused. “I always thought that R was handsome,” said a voice that sounded male. 

“Wow, shocker there,” the server said with a laugh. It became readily apparent that they knew each other. “He’s completely your type.”

Grantaire decided to...leave his headphones out for a moment. He listened to his own voice on TV as they went through the beginning of the interview. The person at the counter chuckled in a way that Grantaire though was very warm and welcoming. “I guess he is. Always reminded me of an old boyfriend I had. Well, someone I probably had a crush on as a kid. Couldn’t for the life of me tell you where I knew him from or his name or anything.”

“That sounds like you,” the server said. “Too wrapped up in your work to remember that sorta stuff right?”

They both laughed and the person placed his order. Grantaire got back to his own food as the TV went on with commercials, then back to his interview. When he heard the dreaded question - “Some groups have said that this song is just one of many you’ve done about suicide.”

The person behind him made some sort of sound, but he couldn’t decipher it. “And that’s something else - R is so open about his mental illnesses and the stigma from it. That’s something to admire.”

He couldn’t help it - his cheeks burned. Grantaire would never get used to people saying he was admirable; that didn’t mean he didn’t like it, though. He smiled a little and took a bite of his fries. They quieted as the clip of his song started, and part of him wanted to turn around, pull his hood down, and call out ‘Surprise,’ but he would control himself.

“...that’s. Odd,” the customer said. “No one ever knows about the June Rebellion. It’s something I’ve always liked to read about, felt some sort of connection to…”

A thoughtful sound and a creaking, perhaps as the person leaned forward.

The song clip came on, but the two people behind him sort of chatted through it. Grantaire didn’t mind. There was a clinking as the person’s food was set down and the commercials ran their course. He went back to his food and let it continue, until the show returned and his own playing filled the air. This time, the diner was quiet. He didn’t even hear the other customer eating as the song went on. 

Until it reached the last couple stanzas. _But I have to, lord, I have to, it’s always been my duty to die.’_ Another clink, and the customer whispered, “Oh my god.”

“What is it?” the server asked.

“Wait…” The entire diner seemed to freeze as the song ended. “Wait…”

Footsteps as the person stood and moved around. Staggering steps. “I don’t,” he said, voice suddenly week. “I don’t feel well...dizzy, I…”

At the sound of a body hitting the floor, Grantaire whipped around.

Golden curls splayed out on the checkered diner tiles. A red hoodie spread under a small, lithe body. Brown lips were partially open, eyes closed under a stern brow.

A cry escaped Grantaire’s lips as he took in Enjolras unconscious on the ground before him. “Holy shit,” he said, stumbling towards the body. “Oh holy shit, holy shit, Enj…”

The last time Grantaire had seen him, they had been close to death, he had been barely smiling, and we was dressed in a red coat. Now he was modern, pierced, tattooed, and instantly, overwhelmingly recognizable. “Call 911!” he called, looking up to the server. “Hurry!”

His hood had fallen. “Oh my god” the server said. “You’re - “

“It doesn’t matter who I am - call 911!”

Grantaire felt for Enjolras’ pulse, touching that skin he would have killed to touch almost 200 years ago. “He’s still breathing…”

Just at the server was telling 911 their address, Enjolras’ eyes fluttered back open. Grantaire smiled at him. “Hey there...you okay? Stay still for m, don’t try to move…”

Enjolras looked distant and lost, brown eyes unfocused. “...you died with me,” he whispered, and Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat. “We’re dead…”

“We were,” Grantaire whispered, hardly able to believe this and not wanting to miss his chance. “But we’re not, don’t worry. We can talk later. I’m here, you’re safe, we’ll keep you alright, get you to a hospital, and we have a life time left to talk.”

“A lifetime,” Enjolras whispered. He raised a shaking hand to Grantaire’s cheek. “You...you died with me…”

Grantaire could never remember if people who hit their head should stay awake, so he urged Enjolras to stay awake until they heard the wailing of the ambulance. Grantaire paid for both of their meals, then jumped in his car and followed that ambulance to the hospital. 

He would have followed it to the end of the world.

**~~~**

“Mr. Grantaire?” a tired sounding nurse said.

He raised his head after what felt like hours; a glance at the clock told him it had only been 20 minutes. “Yes?”

“He’s awake now.”

Grantaire followed her to the room and thanked her profusely. No one would tell him what was going on, but as angry as he was he understood - there was no proof anywhere that Grantaire was, or ever had been, anything to Enjolras. But the hospital staff had let him stay, and were letting him see Enjolras now.

He entered the room quietly. Enjolras blinked those big eyes at him and Grantaire nearly fell apart. But...would he remember now?

“I saw you a hundred times on the Internet and TV,” he said, voice a little raw. “But until tonight...I didn’t know it was you. Or who I was…

“And then you were in the same diner. It’s almost to convenient to be true.” Enjolras reached a hand out for Grantaire.

“Or it’s fate,” Grantaire said. “I was the only one who remembered, I’ve been searching, I’ve been looking and hoping…”

He took Enjolras’ hand, held it tight. Enjolras was here. Enjolras remembered him.

Grantaire was never letting go of his hand again. “We have a lifetime, alright? A lifetime….”

Enjolras shook his head, then seemed to regret it. “I...I’m sorry. I got you...and everyone, you all - “

“Shh. No, Enjolras. We all knew what we were getting into, alright? I don’t blame you. And I’m sure that, wherever the others are, none of them blame you, either. We’ll find them, the same way I found you, and I promise, things will be good. We have another chance.”

“Stay with me?” Enjolras asked, letting his eyes flutter closed.

Grantaire smiled, a tear winding down his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I am not a lyricist and it shows. I just wanted to do something simple and not too detailed for Barricade Day. Thanks for reading!


End file.
